


Double Action

by bellygunnr



Series: Free Men Plural [3]
Category: Half-Life
Genre: Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, Gun Kink, Light Power Dynamics, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Trans Male Character, sharp teeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26743726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellygunnr/pseuds/bellygunnr
Summary: Freemind has a dream, a Colt Python, and eyes set on Freeman. It goes better than expected.
Relationships: Freeman's Mind/Gordon Freeman
Series: Free Men Plural [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931341
Comments: 4
Kudos: 97





	Double Action

You hope it isn’t obvious how closely you’ve been watching him. You hope your line of sight is obscured by the stale mug of coffee you drink deeply from, that the fog on your lenses is enough to distract from you tracking him in your periphery. Yet, despite the anxiety, the fear of being caught, you cannot bring yourself to look away. This was your first time seeing him in a lab, after all, and the difference was… startling, to say the least.

You knew, on some level, that he was more than hot air, but his bastard-like demeanor compelled you to discount him on principle. He was abrasive and cruel at times, wielding his words with a sharper intelligence than your second other, and that did not completely go away as he rounded on Dr. Magnusson with a vengeance. Your eyes linger on the way his muscles bulge underneath the lab coat, the white fabric pulled taut as he gesticulates broadly at a whiteboard.

Eventually, he ceases shouting, quieted by a smug contentment curling his scarred lips into a smile. He takes his scattered array of papers into his arms and leaves, but his eyes narrow on you, tension snapping back into his frame. He stalks toward you, purposeful and intent. You feel lightheaded with how the world suddenly locks back into place.

“Hey, hey, what are you lookin’ at? You’ve been staring at me all day, Freeman. What’s with that?”

You flounder for an answer. Of course he’d have noticed-- he was paranoia given body. And you didn’t bother to think of a liable excuse, so now you’re just staring at him, throat burning with the aftereffects of a too-big gulp of coffee.

“Oh, I get it,” Freemind says, eyes sparkling. “You want a piece of me. You think I’m hot when you’re not calling me an insufferable asshole, right?”

“You’re a dick,” you sign, suddenly exasperated. Paranoid and egotistical. How could you forget?

“And yet,” Freemind laughs. “So what have you been working on, Freeman?”

You step back as Freemind shifts his weight, conspicuously arranging his broad frame across your one exit. Your mind flashes to the crowbar slung at your hip, hidden beneath the lab coat, and the gun hanging heavy in your right pocket. There’s a dozen different solutions to your entrapment itching at your fingertips but you execute none of them, opting instead to stare blankly ahead, wound up like a snake.

It works, after a time. Freemind has the grace to look apologetic-- or something approximate-- as he leans to the side, arms crossed against his chest. His brow is still cocked expectantly, but his expression is softer. You relax.

“We’re still working on long-distance teleportation,” you say carefully. “It’s easier now that we have a target. But the recipient is using a Combine teleporter that they’re having trouble with.”

“That’s a shame. I’m guessin’ that’s what Alyx got roped into working on?” Freemind asks. “Man, we were havin’ fun stealing antlion grubs.”

You shrug noncommittally. You think the friendship he and Alyx have is strange when Freemind can barely interact with Barney. Besides, she was far more useful teaching the rest of humanity Combine tech than messing with antlions.

“Even less talkative today, then,” Freemind says after you fail to respond. “Well, I’ve got shit to do. See ya.”

With that, Freemind leaves, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck as he goes. You watch him walk past his desk and out of the lab entirely. Yet, before he’s out of sight, he twists on his heel and flashes a sign at you. The universal gesture for “follow.”

You take a deep breath. Did Freemind look disappointed just before he left? Did he want you to elaborate on your work? No, it couldn’t be that. He already knew your work-- he made it a point to keep up on it, even as he focused on something else entirely. Something else was up. You wanted to know what.

Leaving your coffee behind, you gather up your things and make for the door, pushing your glasses up your nose as you do. Freemind is lingering at the end of the hall, chatting loudly to a guard. When he sees you, he claps their shoulder and disappears around the bend, forcing you to chase after him. Somehow, he manages to always stay just out of sight. You’re following his raucous voice more than his ponytail.

He strings you along the network of guards stationed throughout White Forest. You pass the cafeteria, where you see him walking out with a handful of headcrab jerky, a strip dangling from his mouth. He flashes you a toothy snarl rather than a smile as he forges on, back into the complex. You wonder why the hell you’re following him.

It’s not like you care about his antics. He’s mean, unruly toward even Dr. Kleiner, and does things that would have gotten him arrested should things like formal law still exist. He’s not even that pretty-- musclebound, sure, and tall, with a mouth full of sharp teeth he won’t share the story about. Maybe he has a pretty green eye, but so did you, and if you keep thinking about this you’re going to feel like one hell of a narcissist.

Maybe that was your problem. You were just a narcissist.

So deep in your thinking, you hardly notice that the trail’s gone dry-- superheated into nothingness by Freemind’s presence. He’s lounging on a bench, a revolver in his hand-- empty, if the row of bullets arranged nearby are any indicator-- and belt already undone.

You stare, bewildered. He doesn’t seem to notice you as he shucks off his lab coat and folds it neatly on the other end of the bench, laying it over the discarded shells. The shirt he’s wearing is a little small, riding up to reveal his stomach with just the leaning motion.

Then he talks.

“Good job! On following me this far, that is. Honestly, I’m a little surprised you even did,” he says, smiling. “I’ve got a proposition for you. Well, not even that. I had this wicked dream last night that’s been bothering me all day. Do you want to help me out?”

Huh. Wait, _huh?_

You try to say something, but mostly just wave your hands around, signs aborted before even coming to fruition. In the end, you just gesture at him forcefully, hoping the heat in your face isn’t noticeable.

To your surprise, Freemind seems to take pause, chewing on his bottom lip in the way he does when he’s doubtful on something. Then he licks his lip, gnawing on the inside of his cheek before apparently finding his words, eye flicking up to pin you down.

“I—” Freemind raises the revolver by the barrel, waving the butt-- “am going to use this to get off. You’re welcome to watch, if you want. That’s how the dream went.”

Oh.

You’re not sure what else you were expecting. You stare at each other for a long moment, the silence suddenly thick and tense.

“If you don’t want to watch, then you can leave. I am going to get myself off right here no matter what you choose, though, so… Your loss, really,” Freemind finishes.

With that, he raises his hips, sliding his pants down until they bunched around his ankles. You’re more surprised than you should be by the fact that he’s gone commando, and is apparently already soaked, if the state of his cunt is anything to go by. He makes a low sound as he takes the head of his dick and rolls it beneath his thumb.

“I’ll stay,” you sign, though you’re unsure why because he’s already gotten this far and you haven’t left yet. He knows you’re staying-- he knows it because he’s arching his back and exposing more of his hips and grinning at you luridly beneath hooded eyes.

Freemind doesn’t stifle a groan as he slides his free hand further down, shoving his fingers without preamble into his cunt. He shifts his hips, settling forward so that they sink deeper inside him, tongue hanging past his lips as they move wordlessly.

Your face is burning. Your hands shake as you slip off your own lab coat, letting it fall gracelessly onto the floor around your feet. This wasn’t how you were expecting your day to go, but you’re also not against it. Freemind looks good, fucking himself on his fingers. He even looks relaxed.

When Freemind removes his hand, it’s coated. He licks it clean, slipping his tongue between his fingers, saliva glinting in strings off his tongue and lips. A dark flush has started to creep across his neck, darkest where his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. His shirt rides further up his torso, exposing skin marred by HEV lines and old scars.

“You look like you want to help,” Freemind says roughly. “Or touch yourself. Ohh, I’d love that. You should touch yourself, Freeman, while you watch me get off. That’d be hot.”

Your hands tighten into fists, twisting up the fabric of your pants. You do think about touching yourself-- about fishing your cock out from your pants and bringing it up to full hardness, about finishing on Freemind’s face while he fucks himself on his revolver, while he says stupid shit-- oh, you could shut him up for once, if he just put his mouth on you.

“Don’t be _shyyy_ about it,” Freemind drawls. “Come on. I can see your cock. Those pants don’t hide much, Freeman.”

Your skin prickles with something like irritation. Roughly, you unzip your pants and yank them down, boxers and all. Your dick is already plenty hard-- standing at attention, leaning a little to the left, flushed pink. Freemind whistles.

“Touch yourself,” Freemind says, and it sounds like a command. “And don’t take your eyes off me. Eyes up.”

You wrap your hand-- tough, calloused, scarred-- around the base of your dick, squeezing gently. You do look at him, much to your chagrin, and gape openly at the sight. He’s got the gun grasped by the barrel, the grip wedged between his legs. There’s a practiced ease in how he slots the weapon in himself-- a relieved, desperate sort of sound that leaks out of him as he pushes it further inside.

“That’s it,” he grunts. “Eyes on me. Follow my lead, Freeman.”

Using the bench as a stabilizer, Freemind rocks himself over the handle, thighs visibly trembling with the effort. He’s shameless in his motions, making them full-bodied, and unabashed with his noises. It seems he’s vocal, no matter what he’s doing.

The thought makes you stroke yourself faster. You take a step toward him, shuffling so as to not trip over your own pants. When he doesn’t stop you, you continue to approach, fixated on how red his lips are against white teeth.

“This is even better than the dream,” Freemind moans.

The gun seems to disappear deeper inside him with every rock. Freemind moves faster, chasing the rush of impending orgasm with a vengeance. His expression is twisted, face flushed with exertion.

Your own pace is growing erratic. Follow his pace, indeed-- you reach out to grab his head and dig your fingers into his scalp, eager to hold onto something that isn’t yourself for balance. It brings your hips to eye-level; you make a show of thrusting into your fist.

“Oh, much better,” Freemind says thickly. “Look at you... You’re that hard for me. Looks like I’m not the only narcissist here, eh?”

How can he talk so much? You growl in the back of your throat and grab a fistful of his hair. His confidence turns into shock as you grind your cock against his cheek, smearing pre-cum into his beard and eyepatch. Then he grins, a shark’s caricature, and licks a stripe up to the tip of your dick.

He takes it into his mouth of his own accord. You thrust forward, not wanting to give him time to adjust but he adapts to it, slackening his jaw and following your meter exactly. His eye rolls back at one point, a muffled, heinous moan sending vibrations to the base of your cock as he grows overwhelmed by you and the gun in his cunt.

So badly you wish to talk, but your throat doesn’t make noise, so you dig your fingernails into his scalp and keep his head in place. The bench creaks ominously as Freemind moves even faster, eye screwing shut, so close to climax. He seems to gag a little, your rhythms’ falling out of sync, but still he doesn’t stop.

You’re getting close yourself-- you can feel it, coiling tight in your belly. Your muscles are aching from holding yourself like this, but you ignore it. Freemind’s mouth is hot and wet and finally silent as he sucks you off. Looking down on him, he looks utterly blissed out, and that fact alone is enough to make you cum.

Your only warning to him is a broken keen and erratic thrusts down his throat. Judging by how he grabs onto your hips, fingernails dragging into the flesh, he must have already came himself-- and is eagerly swallowing yours, mewling as he does so. When you finish, he slides his mouth off with a wet pop.

Excess spit dribbles past his lip and hangs from a string between your cock. It snaps a second later, becoming a glistening wet trail down his chin. Panting heavily, Freemind leans against the wall, the gun laid flat beside him.

Messy, is the only thing you can think. And way too fucking good. You grab his shoulder as you drop down onto the bench beside him, squeezing tightly the muscle there.

“That,” Freemind starts, “was fucking perfect.”

You snort, but nod in agreement.

He turns to look at you. His expression is… unreadable, an unfamiliar sight. It’s softer, maybe. You realize why when he leans in close and presses a short kiss to your mouth.

“Thanks, Freeman,” he murmurs. “Let’s try that again sometime.”

You nod, caught off-guard.

**Author's Note:**

> THIS WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE THIS LONG HI I HAVE. PROBLEMS


End file.
